Chapter Two

For Ulfric, and Skyri…” The soldier’s voice was cut short as the haft of Gaeolin’s arrow pierced his throat. The man looked down for a moment, as if not believing his fate. Blood poured from his mouth with the final attempts at speech. Inigo watched his friend run after the last Stormcloak, noticing a faint distortion. He smelled magic…

As the wood elf drew his bow to aim, another Thalmor’s invisibility spell ended, his blade raised above the Bosmer’s head. Deftly, the Khajiit sprung forward, his ebony blade into the soft moonstone of the armor. “Death suits you..” he hissed, drawing the sword out of his enemy. 

Gaeolin loosed his shot, watching as the ‘fearless Son of Skyrim’ crumpled beneath the force of it. He let out his breath, kneeling down as he realized how tired the fight had made him. “Thank you, Inigo… I didn’t even hear him behind me until you got him.”

“I thought for a second I wasn’t going to get him in time.” He went to his horse, retrieving a rag to begin cleaning the blood from his sword. “I’m still not sure why they decided to attack us too.”

“In conflict,” Gaeolin mused, “there is no such thing as being neutral. Blood runs hot when swords clash. To the rebels, I was ‘just another elf’. To the Thalmor, I’m one of the lesser.” He turned to his blue friend. “The Stormcloaks, I might have been able to overlook. I don’t agree with them, but I don’t think to kill them on sight. But for these…” He stared down into one of the elves faces, his fist clenching. “It’s more personal.”

Inigo remained silent, not for the first time wondering what his friend meant by that. He slid his sword into the sheath that hung at Beast’s side. She whinnied slightly at his touch, facing him with her dark brown eyes. He paused, finally asking. “If it’s okay, I’m curious about what happened between you and the Dominion.”

Gaeolin tugged his gloves tighter onto his hands. “I… I’d rather we wait until some other time for that. It’s a long story, and I may need a few drinks first.” He turned to him, noticing blood on the cat’s sleeve. “Did you get hit?” He walked over, inspecting Inigo’s shoulder with concern.

“Save your magic, my friend.” Inigo eyed the stain as his companion readied a healing spell. “It’s just blood from him.” He gestured to the impaled justicar. The sun was high above them, beating down to warm them despite the snow in the foothills. “Come on, let’s get moving. You said we’d get something to eat when we got to Falkreath. I’m hungry…” Gaeolin laughed to himself, allowing a grin as they mounted up once again.

As the road wound down to the valley, the sound of the forest life began to lull the pair into a more passive mood. A thrush trilled it’s sweet, flute like melody as it tended a nest. Inigo hummed to himself at the rear, tail twitching by his stirrup. Gaeolin closed his eyes, taking in the scent of the pines, pulling Nephenee’s reins back to stop her. 

“What is it?” Inigo asked. The wood elf held up his hand for silence, sliding down to the road. He crouched, walking forward to the trunk of a tree. Inigo followed closely. Cursing under his breath at what he saw.

Ahead, covering the road through a small cliff, stretched a makeshift bridge. There was a brazer burning, providing a little extra warmth for a bandit. She was alone it seemed, waiting for her comrades to return. Gaeolin turned, checking his quiver.

“I’ve only got sixteen arrows left…” He looked back to their road block. “I’d rather not waste one on this.”

“We could try to sneak through the trees, bypass their little trap.”

He shook his head. “With the horses in tow? We’d be heard for miles with how clumsy Beast is…”

Inigo shot him a disgruntled look. “She needs her snacks… She’s a growing girl.”

“Around her middle, perhaps…” Gaeolin drew his bow, knocking an arrow for the shot.  He couldn’t get a good view here. The branches were getting in the way. He sneaked forward, seeing her through the sights of his bow. She was clueless, leaning against the railing lazily. It was perfect…

His heart slammed as his foot broke a piece of dead wood under him. The sound cut through the silence causing his prey to look up. She must have seen his bow’s reflection. Drawing her own, she loosed an arrow at him. He lunged too late, the steel arrow head slicing into his shoulder. He gasped, cursing at the sting. Inigo drew back his string, throwing a missile toward her. She rolled to the side deftly. “You’ll have to try harder than that!” 

Gaeolin tried once again to get his shot, but the highwayman was too quick. She planted a shot into his leg, bringing him to his knee.

“Damnit!” But in that moment, he noticed that her luck had run out. The last draw she had made caused her string to snap. Before she could react, he took aim, burying his arrow into her breast. She cried out, falling back onto the platform. Quick as a flash, The indigo Khajiit soared over the bridge, slicing his blade across her throat with finality. 

“My friend! Are you okay?” Inigo dropped his sword, running to his side. “Here, drink this…” He unstopped a potion, ripping a piece of cloth off of the fringe of his shirt. He tied the bandage about the cut. Gaeolin nearly drowned as he inhaled the elixir. 

“EASY! Easy…” He sagged to the ground, the pain making his eyes water. He looked down at the fletching that stuck in this thigh. “Oh… That’s going to be rough…” 

“Gods…” Inigo looked at the wound, gingerly testing the bleeding area. He grimaced as Gaeolin hissed. “I… I think maybe we should leave this for a healer. I’ll go get the horses. Do you think you can make it to Falkreath with that?”

Gaeolin moved his leg, wincing once again. “It’s not the first time I’ll have lived through being shot.” 

Inigo looked mortified. “Please, don’t joke about that! I still feel horrible about it…” But his friend only laughed, regretting it almost instantly.

“Sorry… Yeah, help me onto Nephenee.”

It was night before they rode into the village, the sound of carousing pouring from the door of the inn. Gaeolin staggered as Inigo helped him walk. A guard saw them rushing forward.

“Trouble on the roads?”

“A bandit roadblock.” Inigo explained. “We took out one, but there may be more. My friend is hurt. He needs a healer.”

The guard pointed down the road. “Runil’s in the hall of the dead. I’ll head there now to wake him.”

“Hall of the Dead…” Gaeolin coughed, “so encouraging…”

Inigo shook his head. “Leave it to you to make wise cracks with an arrow embedded in your leg.” They made their way past the tombstones, seeing smoke rise from the little shack on the hill. The door was open, a high elf waiting to guide them in. 

“Lie down here.” He spoke softly, grabbing a sprig of blue flowers. “Che this, but do not swallow.” Gaeolin obeyed as the priest examined him. Inigo sat in a chair nearby, looking around the cabin with the peacefulness of an enraged Falmer. Runil grabbed the arrow shaft, gently trying to turn it. Gaeolin grunted. He forced himself to keep from decking the man, chewing more fiercely on the plants he’d been given. “Thankfully, the head is still attached, and it doesn’t seem lodged into your bone. I can remove it with relative ease.” He raised a hand, holding it above the Bosmer’s face. A pale, warm light radiated from his palm, causing the pain to disappear. The healer picked up a metal tool, prying the flesh of his patient’s thigh apart to see the barb. Inigo watched, turning away when he saw blood pouring out of his friend’s leg. Suddenly, the Altmer held up the extracted missile, pressing a free hand against the skin. 

This time, it burned. Gaeolin hissed as the muscle kneaded back together under the magical influence. Runil glared at the scar as it slowly melted away. After a few minutes, he let his hand fall, slumping back in his chair. “Father Arkay, be praised…” He made a sign with his hand as Gaeolin sat up. “You should rest for a day or two. You’re out of danger, but there is still a lot of recovering to do. The dead Man’s Drink has a few rooms, if you care for them.”

Looking down at his leg, Gaeolin once again wished he’d invested more time into the Restoration school. “Thank you, Father.” He dug in his coin purse, producing thirty Septims. “I know it’s not that much, but please accept this.”

Runil waved the coins away. “Keep the gold. I’ll just hold you to a favor someday. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you again.” With that, he escorted them out of his house, causing the pair to frown.

“I guess we’ll lay low here for a while.” Inigo rubbed his shoulder, smearing the blood that was still somewhat wet around the fabric. “Now, let’s go get that food you promised me.” 

Gaeolin followed slowly, still a slight limp to his gait. He heard the howl of a wolf echo through the valley. His head spun, probably due to the loss of so much blood. Once again, he found himself thanking the God’s for Inigo. Where would he have been if he’d not saved him? There were two time just this day when the blue furred ally had spared him an untimely demise. He looked up at Secunda, smiling as his companion once again complained of hunger.